Souls Together
by gray-streaks
Summary: The first part in a massive Harry Potter partial AU that spans from James and Lily's first year in 1971 to the end of the war in 1998, Souls Together is James, Lily and Severus' story from the day they receive their Hogwarts letters to Halloween 1981. Rating to be safe.


A/N: While most of this story remains to be written, the majority of it is mapped out in my head. The Marauders' first year and a large part of the second exist in what I'm calling an 'extended outline.' Basically I used this universe for my NaNo-novel two years in a row and this is my major edits finally happening.

Enjoy!

XxXxXxXx

A boy dashes from the front door of a run-down house, across the unkempt front yard and darts easily under the bare branches of the dead tree in the corner. There's a dark bruise beginning to form on one pale cheek, but he doesn't seem to notice as he brushes dark, unwashed hair out of his face and bats a small, winged insect away from his over large nose. His worn sneakers pound against the pavement as he runs down the street with a parchment envelope clutched in his hands.

If he hurries he can tell her before breakfast.

XxXxXxXx

Another boy opens his eyes, instantly awake. It's coming. Today. It has to be today, it just has to. His parents have always told him that they send the letters out halfway through July and it's the twenty-sixth today, practically August. Hogwarts is _late_.

Despite the fact that he has done this every day for the last week, eleven year old James Potter leaps out of his over large bed, flings the door open and hurtles full tilt down the hall without bothering to find his slippers or pull his dressing gown over his pajamas. He ignores the tapestries that adorn the walls, the elaborate molding and even dodges a marble bust of his seven-times great-grandfather without batting an eyelash and goes straight for the grand flight of curved stairs at the end of the corridor.

Not wanting to waste the time it would take to actually walk down the twenty-odd steps, James jumps up onto the shiny railing and slides down the curved banister with well-practiced ease. In his excitement, which seems to get stronger with each passing day he is left waiting for his letter, he times the landing wrong and lands flat on his face and the end of the slope. For all its grandeur, the staircase ends in what is perhaps the narrowest of the halls in the house and he narrowly avoids hitting his head on the opposite wall as he slides slightly on the slick, wooden floor.

The manor has been in the Potter family for centuries and his full of over the top staircases, low ceilings and narrow staircases, most of which seemed to lead to the most unexpected of places – though some just led to blank walls. James doesn't know what had happened to make the house so crazy, and when he asked his Dad he never got a straight answer. He just figures that somebody insane once tried to remodel the house. There some parts of the house that are completely inhabitable by humans because none of the ceilings are over four feet tall. James' mother likes to make jokes about hobbits – whatever those are. The house-elves make their rooms in those areas.

"Smooth," comes his mother's slightly sarcastic voice as James picks himself up and straightens his pajamas. She is leaning against the wall just to the right of where his face had been like she has been for the last week.

He always misses that landing.

At the moment, Laura Potter is still wearing a dressing gown over her own pajamas. Her thick auburn hair is shot through with wide streaks of gray and pulled back into a hastily prepared bun at the back of her neck. Though she will be seventy-seven on her next birthday, she is still considered fairly young by wizarding standards though quite a bit older than one would expect with an eleven year old son, and an older child at that. Not that she looked her age; all of the gray in her hair had appeared after a four year old James had discovered his love of pranks and the majority of it after an eight year old James had realized that he could use the houses built in maze as a pranking tool.

"Is it here?" He asks excitedly, bouncing slightly as he straightens all the way and his eyes fix on her clearly visible hands looking for something that obviously isn't there.

"As far as I know, the mail hasn't arrived yet, but your father is the one in the kitchen waiting for it…" Laura looks down at her right hand, examining her finger nails in an attempt to keep a straight face. "I'd hurry if I were you," she says just as she has the last three days, "you know how he keeps saying that he'll toss it in the fire the instant he sees it. He really doesn't want his baby to grow up."

Though he knows his father has never said such a thing, James' face drains completely of color at the word 'fire' and within an instant he is speeding off down the hall. Sure he wouldn't actually…

_But you never know with Dad, he very well could…_ He turns sharply and pushes open the swinging door that leads to the kitchen, skidding to a stop just before he hits the plain wooden table.

Harold Potter is sitting directly across from the door with his breakfast plate pushed to one side and the mornings _Daily Prophet_ still rolled up beside it. Like his wife, Harold is well into his seventies (he will be seventy-nine within a couple of weeks) and appears much younger than he looks. Both the Potters and Laura's family are considered to be among the purest of the purebloods and, while that accounts for a large part of Harold's continued good looks, decades of being an auror have certainly had their impact. It wasn't until he was promoted to head of the department several years ago that Harold started being in the office more often than he was in the field.

Like James and Laura, Harold is still in his pajamas, there is no dressing before breakfast in this household. The man himself is sifting through the morning mail, muttering as he does so.

"Junk, junk… I'll never understand how we get junk mail it seems like such a muggle concept on parchment… Floo bill, Quidditch Weekly re-subscription reminder… and _what_ is this?"

With the mischievous grin that his son had inherited, he pulls one of the heavy parchment envelope from the stack that looked the same as any other morning. This particular envelope is special though, James can easily make out the bright emerald ink from his spot on the other side of the wide table despite Harold's efforts to hide the words from his view:

_Mr. J. Potter_

_The heir's suite_

_Phoenix Fire Manor_

_Godric's Hollow_

James can't help but gasp softly. His parents haven't been students at Hogwarts for sixty years and they tend to speak in that tone that all old people get when talking about simpler times. A lot of times it makes the school sound more like a story they believed when they were kids, an idea, a myth and not a place that they had actually lived at for the better part of a decade, but that envelope, those green words were proof. He's actually going.

If of course he could get his father to stop holding the envelope that close to the fireplace. He leaps easily on to one of the chairs and from there to the table and practically pounces onto his dad and snatches the letter seconds before it would have caught fire – if the flames in the fireplace had been real.

"That wasn't very nice," James grumbles and he leaps to his feet and turns away from his chuckling father. He breaks the red seal and scans the first page breathlessly:

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all the necessary books and equipment, but be aware that changes may be made by the start of term._

_Term begins on September 1. We await your owl no later than July 31._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Horace Slughorn_

_Deputy Headmaster_

James frowned. "Why would they change the booklist after they've sent it out?" He's a bright kid, everyone says so, but that just doesn't make sense to him.

"Just in case there's a last minute change in the faculty… which there might well be. Dumbledore seems to be having a hard time keeping a Defense professor two years in a row, how long's it been now?" Harold shifts his gaze from his son to his wife, who's now standing by the door.

She hums softly as she thinks, "The fifties? I honestly don't know; you'd think the board would do something about it though."

James quickly speaks up before his parents can start discussing something he really doesn't care much about. "Well, can we go shopping then?"

Laura laughs. "Of course not, we'll just have to return everything when they change the list."

"Then we can go again."

"No."

"But-"

"You don't need a wand yet, term doesn't start until September. We can go in a couple of weeks."

"But-"

"Enough," she says using the tone that all Mum's get when they mean business. Her eyebrows raise and her voice softens, "Do you want your presents or not?"

James hesitates, just for a moment.

Letter day gifts have been a family tradition for centuries, since before their name was Potter even. Everybody in the family gets them, the father given the oldest son the gift _his _father gave him or a suitable replacement if it has been lost or stolen or worn out. Many of the older branches have long ago given up the practice otherwise most purebloods would be given hand-me-down gifts on their letter days, but Harold's family and a few others still do. It's rumored that the gift that started it all centuries back is still 'in circulation,' but it was so long ago that nobody knows what it was anymore.

James isn't sure if he believes that, but has been looking for his gifts for months, since his birthday in March, but so far he hasn't had any luck. After checking all of the usual hiding spots, and some of the more unusual, he had decided that this gift was hidden in plain sight, but even the reverse strategy of not actively looking for it in the hopes that he might find it in passing have availed him nothing.

He sighs dramatically, letting his shoulders fall into an over-exaggerated slump. "I suppose I could settle for that."

Laura smiles knowingly, "I'll be right back." She turns to leave the kitchen again, but not before calling, "You won't get it before you eat your breakfast!" over her shoulder.

Harold laughs as James hurries to get his plate from the counter and reaches for his _Prophet_.

XxXxXxXx

The girl is brushing her hair by her bedroom window when she hears him sneaking into the back garden. Lily Evans sets her brush down and turns, a smile already spreading across her face, to see her best friend standing outside her window. Her smile fades before she can get the window open.

"Again?" She asks reaching for the bruise on Severus' cheek.

He pulls back, "It's nothing, really." He's practically shaking with excitement as he shows her his envelope. It hasn't even been opened yet, he's just gripping it as tightly as he can with both hands. His acceptance letter. His ticket out.

"Well that explains why you're here so early," she says dryly, trying to ignore the butterflies that appear in her stomach.

Severus grips the envelope even tighter, "It came," he says in a voice that's just too high to be called a whisper, his excitement overriding his need for caution. "It actually-"

Suddenly, Lily's bedroom door opens and she spins, her hair flying out and hitting Severus in the face as she automatically moves to block the window.

"Mum says breakfast is ready," the taller, blonde girl sniffs in disdain and peers around the room. "Can't you even make your bed?"

Lily rolls her eyes and, hoping Severus has had time to get away, stomps to her bed. She pulls the sheet and quilt up and tucks them easily. "Can't you give me a moment, Tuney?"

Petunia frowns and walks across to the window. She leans out and makes and show of looking both ways, down and even up. "You were talking to that boy again."

"I don't see how that is any of your business," Lily says stiffly, straightening a pillow. "Besides, I was brushing my hair and it's _breakfast_ time. Surely Severus is home with his own family."

"That _boy_ is never home and you know it." Petunia sniffs again. "Does he even bathe? I swear I can smell him."

Lily opens her mouth, but their mother's voice drifts down the hall before she can form a reply.

"Girls?"

"Coming, Mum!" she calls instead.

"You're going to end up with the nutters if you keep hanging out with the likes of him," Petunia says before giving yet another sniff and brushing past Lily and into the hall.

Lily dashes back to her window, but Severus is long gone. Her eyes flicker to one of the flowers in the garden, a little rose that hasn't fully bloomed yet. She takes a deep breath and concentrates; slowly the petals open.

"You'll see, Petunia Marie," she says to the empty room as she turns around. "You'll see who's crazy."

Calmly, she heads to breakfast.

XxXxXxXx

James eats so fast that his plate is nearly empty by the time his mother returns to the kitchen levitating a large, wrapped package.

"Done already?" Laura asks dryly as she sets the package on the floor.

James scoops the last bite of eggs into his mouth and nods eagerly. He's reaching for his pumpkin juice when movement outside the window catches his eye. He swallows quickly. "I thought the post had come already."

Laura busies herself with the cleaning up, hiding a grin as she fills the sink with water. Though they have a house-elf, Laura prefers to do much of the work on her own. She insists on making and serving breakfast and, if she's hosting a party, she can be found helping in the kitchen until the first guest arrives. Sometimes, she even does the heavy lifting, though with magic, lifting is rarely actually involved. Ginger, their house-elf, doesn't like it, but she's learned to live with it.

Harold hides a smile of his own behind his _Prophet_, "I believe it has."

"Then why is there an owl flying towards us?"

"That's an interesting question. Why don't you ask it when it gets here?"

Less than a minute later, a small, tawny owl lands beside James' plate and drops on envelope into the small puddle of grease left by his bacon.

Sighing, James picks it up and flicks away a few tiny pieces of potato. '_Congratulations!_' is written on the from in his mother's neat, precise handwriting. Slowly, he turns the envelope over and opens it.

_Happy Letter-Day, my little prince!_

_He's all yours, name him as you wish. Just remember that his care is your responsibility from now on._

_Lots of love,_

_Mummy_

He smiles and holds out two fingers for the owl to investigate, "Really?"

"Of course," Laura grins, nodding over her should towards the package, "Do you want it or should I keep it?"

James jumps out of his seat and his new owl goes to examine Harold's bacon instead. Within moments, he is kneeling beside a shiny new trunk and a pile of brightly colored paper. He raises his eyebrows, "What is this? 'Happy Letter-day – now leave?'"

"Basically," Harold says, "Ow! Don't hit me woman!"

Laura laughs and dances out of his reach, the soapy wooden spoon she had smacked his shoulder with still in one hand.

James rolls his eyes and flicks the locks on the front of the trunk. It's empty.

He can't quite fight the wave of disappoint that instantly surges through him. He had been sure that his dad's Letter-day gift had been an invisibility cloak and that old wedding ring that had been passed down for the past four centuries or so.

The ring is supposed to come on a chain and he is supposed to wear it around his neck until he finds that special girl. But honestly, he doesn't care about it, he just wants that cloak.

That invisibility cloak.

_Invisibility._

Oh.

Of course.

He vaguely remembers a story about his dad's cloak being left draped over the back of a chair and then hit with a stray mobility charm from his dad's school days. It had taken them hours to find it.

'_What are the chances?_' James wonders as he reaches into the trunk. He smiles when his fingers brush against the softest, smoothest fabric he has ever felt. '_Pretty good, apparently._' He leaps to his feet and, with a flourish that even he will admit was probably overdone, whips the cloak out of the trunk.

"We're supposed to do it the same way every time, and he figures it out right away, naturally," Harold mutters into his paper, "It only took me until I started packing."

James sniffs and swirls the cloak over his shoulders so that only his head is visible. "Some of us are just smarter than others." He kneels by the trunk again and starts to dig through the contents. He laughs to himself at how weird his hands look floating around on their own. Mostly, the trunk contains the things he needs to take care of his new owl: a cage, water bowls and varying kinds of treats. But at the bottom he finds a flat velvet box and another envelope.

He opens the box first, figuring it would be the more interesting of the two, and finds the wedding/engagement ring on its chain. He hooks it around his neck to keep his parents happy and reaches for the envelope. Inside is a slip of parchment made to look like a coupon cut from the _Daily Prophet_:

_Good for one (1) broomstick of your choice (within reason!)_

Underneath in smaller print are the words:

_Not valid until James Potter's second year._

His head snaps up. He has been trying to talk them into getting him his own broom for years.

"I wanted to give you one for your birthday, your mother thought it best to wait for your twelfth… so we compromised."

"This way you won't try to sneak it with you and it won't be just sitting here all year."

James jumps to his feet, throwing the invisibility cloak to the side, and runs around the table. Laura's laughing before he's able to get his arms around her.

XxXxXxXx

Lily is helping her mum put the newly cleaned breakfast dishes back in the cupboard when there is a knock at the door. She drops her handful of silverware in the drawer and runs from the kitchen. She ignores her mum's shocked, "LILY!" and makes it to the door before her dad is even fully out of his arm chair.

Standing on the front porch is a large man with an equally large mustache. He's bouncing slightly on his toes and peering excitedly at one of the rose bushes. He's wearing a bright green paisley shirt and red plaid pants, both of which appear to be too small for him.

Lily stares. She feels her father come up behind her and doesn't have to look up to know that he's staring too. This is the man they send to bring her Hogwarts letter?

Finally, her dad clears his throat. "Can we help you?"

The man looks up, "Oh!" He leaps back and almost falls down the stairs, catching himself just in time on the railing. He rights himself with surprising ease and flicks his eyes between the two of them for several seconds before finally focusing on her. "You must be Lily Evans."

"Just who the he-" he dad starts, but Lily's voice cut him off.

"Are-are you here to bring me my letter?"

"Letter? What letter?" Her mum's voice comes from behind them. Lily glances over her shoulder. Both her mother and sister are standing in the entry way and trying to see what all the fuss is about.

"Her _Hogwarts_ letter, it's all she and that boy ever talk about." Petunia says, disdain thick in her voice. "He can't dress himself either," she adds in almost an afterthought.

"Tuney!" Lily says scandalized.

"Sweetie, you do know that's just make believe."

Lily snaps her head up to look at her father, but before she can respond, somebody else does.

"Oh but it isn't."

All four members of the Evans family turn to stare at him.

Lily grins at the man. "I _knew _it."

He grins back at her, making his mustache wiggle a bit, and reaches into the back pocket of his pants. With an exaggerated bow, he hands her the parchment envelope.

She hugs it to her chest.

"I'm Horace Slughorn, Deputy Headmaster, Potions Professor and Head of Slytherin house at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he says, straightening and meeting her father's eye, "perhaps we should move this inside?"


End file.
